Cat's Eyes
by Butterycrumpets
Summary: John discovers that Sherlock has been meddling in all of his past relationships and is determined to find out why. John/Sherlock, minor coarse language, M just to be safe. Happy fluff :3


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing... obviously

**Cat's Eyes: **written by me, Buttery Crumpets

Faves/reviews/follows are greatly appreciated :3

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"You took my cat's eyes."

"What?" Sherlock snapped out of his trance-like state at John's sudden accusation. His flatmate was glaring at him from across the room expectantly. "We don't have a cat, John."

"I mean the gems. They were in my coat pocket, in the green 'Tiffany and co.' box. Ringing any bells?"

"I have no idea what-"

"Don't give me that, Sherlock! I _know _you stole them because I put them in my coat last night and when I got to the restaurant they were gone."

"Perhaps Mrs Hud-" But John H Watson was having none of Sherlock Holmes' excuses.

"Where are they? Tell me, Sherlock."

The consulting detective looked genuinely hurt at his friend's allegation.

"John, I have devoted my life to purging this city and occasionally this country of criminals and lawbreakers of every sort, so you can imagine that for you to accuse me of such a heinous crime, really John, I am a little hurt to say the least."

The army doctor pursed his lips but his stare didn't waver. His gaze bore into the side of Sherlock's head until finally the detective cracked, "I didn't steal them, I confiscated them."

"I knew it!" John roared, leaping out of his seat and waggling his newspaper triumphantly. "Just tell me where the cat's eyes are and I'll ignore whatever twisted reasoning you had for _stealing _them in the first place."

Sherlock groaned, "They're called Cymophanes, John. And I _confiscated _them because I will not allow you to give such a tasteless gift to your current partner."

"Those _cymophanes _cost me fifty pounds, and they're not tasteless. And since when have you cared what I bought for my girlfriends?"

"I don't care." He muttered, drawing his knees up to his chin.

"Then where are they?"

Sherlock's mouth snapped shut.

"Just so you know, Mary broke up with me tonight. I had to pretend I'd forgotten her birthday and that was the last straw for her apparently."

Sherlock was silent.

Then John Watson saw the pattern. Sarah had left him after she found unfamiliar women's underwear tangled up in his sheets. Alice dumped him after she discovered a series of explicit emails between John and one 'Shirley' whom he had sworn he had never met. That night Mary had dumped him too after he forgot her birthday. But none of those breakups had been his fault.

"Why did you do it?" John asked quietly.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"No, you know _exactly _what I'm talking about!" Sherlock's flatmate's voice came out louder than he intended, but he was too angry to care. "You've messed with every one of my relationships since we moved in together. Now tell me why or I'll have to assume that you really are a cold hearted mean spirited _psychopath _and I certainly won't be living with you for much longer."

There was real fear in Sherlock's eyes as John spat out his accusations,

"You don't mean that, John. You won't really move out." His voice was small and pleading.

"Try me."

The detective's cheeks had flushed an unusual shade of red.

"I did it because I knew what those women were."

"Go on."

"I looked at every one of those girlfriends of yours and I saw boring women who were using you for money or sex or _cymophanes _and I knew that they weren't good enough for you."

"They weren't good enough for me? Well who the hell would you rather I dated? We can't all score Irene fucking Adler!"

"I couldn't imagine what you saw in them!" Sherlock groaned, "So yes, I may have slightly helped a few of those already failing relationships come to their inevitable end but really, it would have only been a few more weeks at most for each of them. It didn't help that they were all so dull to begin with. You should be with someone who interests you, and amazes you-"but the detective cut himself off.

"So, you then. You think I should be with you."

"I didn't say that."

"Someone who _interests me and amazes me_?"

"That could be anyone." Sherlock said with a wave of his hand, although his face was still tomato red.

"Right then." John hissed, stalking over to where his flatmate was squirming uncomfortably in his seat. In one swift movement he had pinned Sherlock's wrists above his head, his heart pumping as though Moriarty's bombs were beneath his jacket once more. The detective had his fair share of knowledge in physical combat, but lacked the sheer strength of Captain Watson, and so he remained stuck against the wall despite his feeble wriggling.

"You are an idiot." John told him with newfound tenderness. "If you wanted to be with me, you should have just said."

"Y-you would never want to be with someone like me."

"Idiot. I practically asked you out at that café two years ago, you were the one who turned me down, remember, Mr-I-consider-myself-married-to-my-work?" Sherlock finally managed to meet John's eyes.

"I was afraid I'd spoil you. You're so loyal, and kind, and _good _and I'm well, not."

"Did you ever consider maybe I wanted you to spoil me?"

The consulting detective's jaw dropped and John did not hesitate to push their mouths together. It was gentle, and as their lips danced slowly, John released his iron grip on Sherlock's wrists, vying instead for weaving his fingers through his former friend's dark curls.

Because of course, they were no longer just friends.


End file.
